The Morning After
by Burman
Summary: Chapters 9 and 10 Posted! My take on where we'll be going post Vessel. Rated M for Sexuality, a scene of intense violence, and brief strong language. Please R&R!
1. Of Chaos and Chardonnay

The Morning After

Chloe Sullivan opened her eyes very slowly. The morning sun cut through a veil of mist and smoke and fog in disorganized rays. She hurt. That much she knew. Her eye had swollen, and the more she woke, the more aware she became of just how much and where she hurt. Soon, she could feel the cold pavement pressing into her bruised hip. As she opened her good eye, she became half-aware of her surroundings. She was surrounded by McDonald's wrappers and half-rotten food and the occasional ratty mattress. In the distance, she could almost see the street, half-lit by the rising sunlight, full of people much like herself-bruised, battered, but alive. She sat up, slowly. She felt light headed as the whole world swirled around her. She stumbled to her hands and knees, and began to crawl through the mess, unable to stand. Her knees were scraped up, and her shirt had been half ripped off. Her hair was a mess and her lips stung loudly. Her face was coated and dirt and sweat. The smell was suffocating her. No time to think. Just. Get. Out.

Lana Lang woke to light jazz and the smell of rose petals. She squinted the morning sun surrounding a dark silhouette out of her eyes. As she blinked them open again, she followed the burgundy carpet to the back of a cream-colored arm chair. From her vantage point, she could see slightly tanned hand holding a full wine glass. She smiled. Drawing the deep purple stain sheets around her, she stepped lightly to the windows. Still feeling the satin flow around and over her bare skin, she let one hand snake over his bald crown, firm cheeks, and then down his sleek, 100 silk-covered chest. A smooth, sophisticated voice found its way into her ears "Morning beautiful." Deep green eyes peered into hers. The wine glass gestured toward another chair next to his. "Here. Come watch the show." She took the glass from his hand with an appreciative kiss. His breath tasted as rich as it sounded. She couldn't wait to try. She raised the rose-colored drink to her lips as she let the satin fall. As she settled into the rich fabric, the perfumated smell dancing in her nose, her eyes slowly, seductively, peered over. What she saw both amazed and frightened her. Then she looked out the window.

Chloe knew she was bleeding internally. She could _feel_ it. What worried her was where she felt it. The small stain forming on her inner thighs was beginning to confirm her worst fears. Finally feeling barely stable enough to stand, Chloe slowly raised her herself to her feet, _slowly. _As she tripped and stumbled her way out of the alley behind her, she suddenly didn't feel so stable. Smoke poured from the buildings around her, in various stages of disrepair. The streets were covered in seas of small shards of broken glass gleaming In the morning. Bits of shredded paper still fell from the sky in dancing drifts like snowflakes in winter. It went on for miles, peppered with abandoned car wrecks and the occasional corpse. The smell never left her: death and disease and destruction and _Chaos_. It burned her nose to inhale, but she couldn't seem to breathe without going into a coughing fit. The small red stains on her sleeves after told her not to breathe through her mouth again. She stumbled for several blocks through the eerie morning twilight. With each passing moment, more and more of the devastation unveiled itself. She paused to catch her breath when she felt a sharp, sudden pain struck her at the top of her head. Everything went black again. Everything went quiet again.

Chloe Sullivan opened her eyes very slowly. A mixture of moonlight and a burning haze framed a silhouette above. The silhouette crouched down to her. At first she wanted to scream, to cry, to shout. Not this not again. But she could hardly move, hardly even breathe. Her jeans were nearly soaked now, and she felt a small, slick pool soak into the pavement pressing into her face. As the broad silhouette lifted her bruised body off the pavement, she just barely saw the blood-stained, half-crumbled brick that had lain next to her. Half-conscious, she looked at the half-lit face holding her tightly in his arms. She wasn't going to go down without a fight. She looked him straight in the eye. Straight into those cool, calm, green eyes.

"Clark?"


	2. Fire, Water, and San Fransisco

Lana couldn't believe her eyes. Somehow, in the middle of the night, it had all seemed so much less than what it really was. Suddenly she felt cold, from the inside out. She immediately grabbed the sheet, drawing it over her. It was of little consolation. "Pity" he said "The morning light did you well. Granted, not quite so well as the moonlight." She shivered.Images of the night before began to flood her every thought. She tried desperately to shut them out. her current state of undress wasn't helping things, though."You know, when the earthquake struck San Francisco a hundred or so years ago, the firefighters ran out of water." Lex said, motioning to the building in front of them, ablaze. "Because, due to the _vibrations_, all the underground water mains had burst and the water just leaked into the ground instead of onto the buildings. All of San Francisco was built of wood, and so the fire spread like, well, wildfire."

He paused for a moment. She could almost see the fire in his eyes. That same fire that had been there last night at the rooftop as he kissed her, kissed her like he had never kissed her before. "Just a few months prior, one of the few _good_ politicians there proposed that the City Planners spend tax dollars to "quake-proof" the water mains. The rest of the politicians however, decided to spend it on gambling, and the…_company_… of a few _beautiful_ women." He gave her a sideways glance, looking over her satin-covered frame. She shuddered yet again. In some ways she liked, or perhaps even loved it when he made her shudder like that. She had been up all night shuddering. "How ironic it must have been for them, when the city hall they had just met in was nothing more than a pile of matchsticks."

Lana's half-awake mind swirled. "Why are you telling me this?" "Because, you see those fire fighters down there?" Lex gestured with another full wine glass. Lana peered out of the glass wall in front of her to the yellow ants scurrying around a little red fire truck. "About a month ago, The Metropolis Board of Development and Maintenance voted 25 to 3 to move the management of the Water Mains to a new, _electronic_, database with full computer back-up, incase of emergency. And, with all the electricity out, even the back-up is in need of back up. So, there won't be any water coming out of that pump, or that hose, or any hose for that matter. Watch."

Over the next few minutes, Lana could discern from the movement of the little yellow ants around another red dot, and then another and another that what Lex had said was indeed true. When she looked back up, she saw a sickly smile on his face. "Well, we have to help him, I mean, there could be people in there. _Innocent people_, Lex." "No, we don't. _No one_ is innocent. Besides, there's nothing we can do, anyways. Lex was calm, direct. His emotions never faltered. He was calculated with his every word. The way they rolled off of his tongue and out of his lips. There was something about the way that the little scar on his upper lip seemed to dance when he spoke that made Lana feel weak at her knees and a little sick to her stomach. Sick in a good way. "So, say we save that one person, hell, that one building. What happens to the next one? Do we save _it_, too? Soon enough, we're saving the whole damn city. What makes you think we can do that, just you and me? No one has that kind of power, not even me." The reality of their situation began to sink in for Lana. She almost could see all the faces of those who needed help, all the faces she couldn't help. She felt sick, and distraught and yet, almost relieved.

"Now, go, take a shower. I'm sure you must feel very…_unclean_ after last night." Averting her eyes from his, knowing that if she looked at him when he looked at her like that, that she'd never make it to the shower, or, rather, that she'd never make it alone, a thought suddenly struck Lana. _Shower?_

"But, but you said that there wasn't any water?" Lex's grin was reminscent of the Cheshire Cat in all his glory. "Well, being in Luthorcorp Tower does have it's advantages, namely water, heat, and electricity completely independent from the city's supply, Generators, a water main that reaches deep into the Kansas aquifer, _all_ the amenities." "Wait, we have power? And Water?Why aren't we _doing_ something. Lex. We should be _helping_ those _people._"

He rose from his seat. The black silk shirt clung to his torso, accentuating his carved physique. Black suit pants matched the Versace jacket hanging on the bathroom door. A silver belt buckle darted in her eyes. Swirling the remaining French wine in his hand, Lex looked at her pointedly. She averted her eyes to the bed. "Let's put it this way." He sat on its edge, picking up an oblong object that had been throw aside near his leather shoes the night before. "You see this… toy… we used so shortly last night?" Images, sounds and feelings began to flood her head again. "The electricity that was used to charge it and power it could have charged and powered, say, one life-support unit for about an hour or so. But you weren't thinking about that in the moment when I had this _deep_ inside you, _were_ you?" His words flowed out of his lips, and past his scar in ways more intoxicating than the wine she had just savored. She couldn't help but glance up at him, with the way he said it, said "_deep_" in the way someone only can when they've been _deep_ inside someone, so _deep_ they could almost see their soul. Lex had been that _deep_ inside of her last night. He had been that deep again and again and _again_. She had felt naked and exposed, and wrong and dirty andloved. When his arms wrapped around her as he slept, she felt safe from all that was going on outside, all the chaos and confusion. If he couldn't save her, who could?

But now, her mind was racing and swirling with thoughts and images and the sound of his labored breathing matching hers. "So, when you eat, or shower, or _play_ you won't think of all of that, _will_ you?" She inhaled as if to protest. "You never thought of the leftovers going to feed starving children in Africa, or the pollution being emitted from your car sending acid rain on your, _our, _grandchildren. So why _think_ now? Because some building across the street is burning? You don't think, you _survive_, in times like these. And you, my dear…" he rose to his feet, still holding the shape in his hand, outstretched towards her. "Are a survivor." The look in his eyes was overcoming her. The way his arm wrapped around her neck dangling the toy near her face as his wine-scented, rich tasting breathe tickled her nose and pressed against her lips.His other hand pulled aside her satin sheet and sent her mind racing, every bit of her screaming out "No!" and "Yes!" simultaneously.

She never made it to the shower alone. She could almost imagine each tear drop hitting her face, her shoulders, her back, her chest and sliding down her stomach, her thighs, her rear. As Lex's hot, wet, slick and hardened body pressed against hers, she began to realize she had really needed a good, long, _hot_ shower.


	3. Jimmy

"Clark?"

Chloe woke with a start. She immediately regretted the motion, as her whole body railed against her in a dull ache. She was staring at a cream-colored wall. It was morning, or maybe evening. She couldn't really tell. Under a window-sill nearby, a pile of tattered clothes lay neatly folded next to a pile of new ones. The glass was covered up by cardboard in several places. Thankfully, the bit of glass that would have let the rising (or setting) sunlight blind her by now was one of those places. Still, she squinted, in a mix of curiosity and disbelief. _Where the hell was she? _The cold draft over her barely-covered form was her first clue. As she looked down for the first time, it became all to clear. The paper sheets and metal arm rails gave it all away: Metropolis Med.

Chloe's head was spinning. Her hair was in a matted mess, and she smelled awful. She felt like she had just woken from a bad dream. But, had this all _been_ some sort of dream, she half-hoped, half-wondered. Where were Clark, or Lana? Was the world really as near-death as she last left it? Maybe Clark would come through the door and apologize for leaving her at the dance during the tornado, and sweep her off her feet all over again. Maybe he would come and tell her, even more apologetically, that he was seeing Lana, and he wouldn't leave town for a whole summer and force her to lie to her best friend. Chloe was sure: He would come through that door, any minute now, and ask her to Prom. "I still owe you from a few years ago" he would say. Maybe this had _all _been a dream. A very long, very bad dream. Chloe relished the thought only a little longer. The disrepair of the building across the street could be plainly seen through the half-broken window next to her. More than a little troubled by the weakening argument for her previous realities, Chloe sank into her hospital bed.

Something struck her suddenly: The silence of it all, and the cold. It was much colder than even the coldest hospital room. A very noticeable draft came through the non-window, and rustled her sheets. There was none of the familiar staccato beeping of a monitor. No drip-drop of any IV's. In the blackout she had begun to wonder would ever end, Met Med had apparently gone low-tech. The sudden light rapping on her door caught Chloe off-guard "Co-come in" she said suddenly aware of why the draft was so noticeable. She felt the uncomfortably thin paper sheet almost float on her bare skin. As she drew the "sheet up" to her _au natural_ form, it seemed the hospital was so over-run, even paper gowns were in short supply. " And here, I thought things couldn't get any worse." She smirked.

An unassuming woman with portly features and skin the color of the dark chocolates Chloe had stashed in her desk drawer at the Planet entered with a bit of a hobble. "Oh, _now_. Don't mind me, missus. Just makin' sure everything's alright, is awl." The nurse glanced at the new pile of clothes near her. "Awh, we' nah ain't dat jus de swaetest thing? Ee e'ven brough' ewe clowes? Nah, ain't dat nise, mmmmmm hmmm." "Wait, _he, _who's _he_?" Chloe asked, trying to make sense through the nurse's drawl. "Well, yur _boyfriend_ 'course. Ee's been here fur da pas' too daes. Ee _e'en_ staid pas' visitin' ours, sleepin' in dat chair over dare. Den 'g'in; we don't 'nforce de visitin' ours _quite_ so much a' times o' of _nation'l crysis_. Wha' woul' da sinse in dat be? Eniwae, I foun' 'im snuzin over in dat chur dis mornin', told'm ta go git one of dem bottles uh Starbuk's frap-somethin-er-uthas 'before the luters giet to it 'gain. Ee shoul' be bak in a few, so don't ewe wor'y, missus. Jus' set tight andure man'll be righ' bak hur fur ya." With that, the nurse slowly made her exit. "Dat is, of course, 'less de looters git ta 'em firs" She let out a cackle as the door shut behind her with a soft hiss.

Chloe's mind was racing. _Clark, here? _Since when did he drink _Starbucks_? Surely, she'd have to tease him about it when he got back. Knowing that he was here, somehow, even with everything that was going on outside and in, she felt _safe, _she knew she was covered, that nothing could happen to her now. Even though she knew he had to go out and "save the world" that night, however many nights ago at the Daily Planet, it felt good to have him back again, back to save _her. _

It was at that point that Chloe was reminded of her undress.

"Shit."

Soon, she was on her feet, a little awkward, a little unstable, sliding her foot, then her calve, and finally almost her whole leg into the simple white panties that laid in front of her. She dared not look at the other pair. Just as she was about to slide the other in, the door behind her opened. She whirled around, desperately trying to cover herself and, with one loud _"thunk"_ lost her footing and slammed her head into the bedside table smartly. She just barely caught sight of red hair on the way down.

"Ow." The statement was simple, but Chloe thought it expressed her current mood _quite_ well. "Ow. Ow. Ow. _Ow_. Clar-" The face that peered over her was decidedly not Clark's. It had, as she just barely caught sight of, short-cut wavy hair the color of autumn leaves and dark green eyes hidden behind thick-framed glasses. "Emo-glasses" her classmates used to call them. There was slight stubble on the cheeks, and one eyebrow was pierced. Clark definitely didn't have any piercings. At least, none that Chloe knew about. He certainly didn't wear that much eyeliner. "Wait, you're not…" Chloe stopped half-sentence. She desperately grabbed for the sheet on the bed above her, covering her exposed form. Whoever this guy was, he had certainly gotten quite the show. Clumsy-naked-girl was all laid out before him. _But where was Clark? The Nurse had said, among other, less coherent, things, that Clark was here. _

"Um, you…you probably don't know me."

_"Understatement" just didn't quite cover it_. "but, you see, well, um, I sit a few cubicles down from you at the Planet. Well, I _sat _a few cubicles down from you at the Daily Planet. Who knows what happened to it, now. A-Anyways, I um, I saw you in the street. You looked pretty bad. So, well, so I took you here. I figure they could do more than I could." He chuckled out a nervous laugh. "A-Aanyways, I'm Jimmy. Jimmy Olsen." For some reason, Chloe still half-hoped he'd say _Clark Kent._

* * *

As, "Jimmy", or whoever the Hell this pierce'd creep way outstretched his hand in the classic American gesture, Chloe was again reminded, even through her mounting confusion, of just how little she was wearing.

"Well, _Jimmy_, if you'll excuse me" she said, nodding towards the thin sheet separating her from eyes that either knew too little about applying eyeliner or far too much. "I would kind of like to put some clothes on…" "Oh, right, yes. Sorry. Um,you'd probablylike me to… you know… leave, wouldn't you." "Yes, _Jimmy_, yes I _would_." As the messenger-bag toting mass of awkwardness hobbled his way out of the room, Chloe, after careful inspection out the window to make sure that no peeping-tom refugees of the end-of-the-world were peering into her half-window, slipped her other leg into the underwear that, she could only assume, her new "acquaintance" had gotten her. When she noticed the "Victoria's Secret" tag on the inside, she couldn't help but snort. _Bet he got a real kick out of shopping for these. But look on the bright side; at least it isn't mesh or lace, or dental floss. _Soon, she was shimmying into a pair of jeans that was just a bit too tight for her taste, especially with a bruised hip. Then, after deciding against the bra that, she was sure would either be a little too big, or a little too perfect of a fit (Chloe didn't know which outcome would be worst, unless of course, it was a bit too small) She slipped on the (obviously a man's) Death Cab for Cutie t-shirt, and laced up a pair of Converse sneakers that were a size or two too small.

"You can come in now." she said, a little dreadful of each of the five words as it was spoken. Still quite sore, she tried to find some sort of comfortable position in the very uncomfortable hospital bed. Just as she found a spot that wouldn't leave her too much sorer than when she came, she finally got a good look at this "Jimmy" he was of an average height, though a skinnier frame. He, too was wearing Chuck Taylor's, though his were old and worn-one toe was covered in duct tape, both had all sorts of little scribblings in different colored pens. He was sporting a pair of slightly faded chocolate-colored corduroys. He had on a matching black Death Cab shirt, hidden behind a partially-un buttoned army green cargo-shirt. Slung around his shoulder was a similarly military-looking messenger bag, which he held in place with his left hand. In his right, he clutched a black golf cap. Chloe noticed a small symbol tattooed on his inner wrist.

"Look, um, Chloe." _Great, the creep even knew her name. Next thing you know, he'll be showing up at her doorstep at 2:00 in the morning in the pouring rain singing love songs about how he wants to just end all the pain. Did that just rhyme?Why, he could make an Emo-song out of it! _"Jimmy"s mumbled voice broke her train of thought. "The, um, the doctor is here to see you, Chloe. He, he wants to talk about what happened, you know, with the um…_attack _and all." Chloe inadvertently glanced at the blood-stained pile sitting in the chair next to her. "So, um, he said that, you know, if you're ready to talk about, well, um, about…a-anyways… he's um, he's ready to see you." _Oh, and it's a HE. Even better. And here I thought my day could only get worse. _"O-Oaky, let him in." was all she could squeak out.

Trying, for reasons she couldn't explain, to look resolute and strong in front of this complete stranger, Chloe only began to remember, to un-supress the memories she had been suppressing since she woke up in the dumpster of an alleyway however many mornings ago, until after "Jimmy" left. By the time he returned, she couldn't help her sobbing.


	4. Awakening

Lana Lang rose silently from her bed. Her head was still swimming from the previous day's… _activities. _There was something about Lex that always had that effect on her. He stayed with her, his presence, long after they would part. His smell- of fine scotch and musk and mahogany. She always had that feeling that she was being followed, or watched after she stumbled her way back into reality. It was never intruding, or offensive. She just felt like someone knew what she was up to. It was almost protective to her, almost romantic. Sometimes, when she felt that feeling creeping slowly into her, she'd start doing things she wouldn't usually do. _Sexy _things. She'd spend a whole day in her dorm in the skimpiest underwear she could find, doing all sorts of different things that suddenly seemed so much sexier when she had barely anything on: Cleaning, leaning over to watch popcorn pop in her microwave. Some days, she'd "forget" to bring a towel with her to the showers, so she'd just slip a t-shirt over her soaked body and make a mad dash for her room. Other days, she'd carry the shirt with her. The dorm was all-girls, so she never felt too exposed. Though, the looks she got from a girl down the hall made her feel dirty and wrong, and, sometimes, if she still had that smell stuck somewhere in her nose -_his_ smell- she'd feel a little naughty, and give the girl with the wandering eye a sexy little wink. She was never brave enough to see her reaction. Lex Luthor opened up a whole new part of Lana that she never quite knew she had before. She liked to think of it as Lana Lang, the adult. Sure, she had sex for the first time with Clark, and she and Whitney had come a little short of doing the "deed" before he left for overseas. Truth be told, he came a little short, or, rather, a little soon. But with Lex, things were different. Lex wasn't her boyfriend off to parts unknown over-seas, or the boy she'd been torn in existential angst over for years on end. The boy with the puppy dog eyes and shaggy mane to match.

That's how she thought of Clark now, as a lost puppy who didn't know where he was or what he wanted. Lana Lang had learned very quickly that she had taken that big step into adulthood, that she had that _moment_-she could still remember it- where she realized she was an _adult_ now _much_ sooner than Clark had. Lana found herself trying desperately too keep, from both Clark and herself, the growing feelings that she was his elder, that soon she'd have to start "matronizing" him, have to start being the adult in the relationship, the responsible one with a clear view of the real world and real life and real context that wasn't obstructed by cloud shapes and daydreams of big adventures and new conquests. More and more, she desperately tried to cling to those childhood feelings of _puppy_-love, ironically enough. She kept trying to hold on to that fantasy of the squad captain and star quarterback walking hand-in-hand down their high school hallways. Her innocence, her childhood, everything that her relationship with Clark had been: naive, innocent, cuddle-love was slipping through her hands like grains of sand.

Then she felt the sharp sting of reality slap her square on the mouth. While Lana had been desperately trying to hold on to her innocence post-high school, Clark was quickly ridding himself of his. For him, this was just a new adventure, a new setting for the same old story. He wasn't leaving anything behind or losing anything by growing up and moving out- he was gaining everything. Freedom of choice, Freedom to live as he wanted- just plain _Freedom. _As Lana grasped desperately at her childhood to try and keep her childhood sweetheart, Clark was ridding himself of both. Looking back ,she could see the signs so clearly.

The way he made passionate, if sloppy, love to her that one magical night then never touched her again. How he avoided intimacy altogether. It was as if being with her, even in this most adult of natures, was like staying with the last remnant of his now-over childhood, in his mind. Clark was so unprepared for life that, when he finally met it face-to-face, he didn't know what to do with it, so he ran for it at full-speed ahead. Lana couldn't help but wonder how many girls Clark had slept with before she caught him wit the blonde in his barn. 5? 10, even? If he wasn't sleeping with her, he had to be in a bed somewhere-in someone else's bed. He was far too inexperienced, still too naïve she though- rather, almost knew- to go to himself for a release of that pent-up tension. And why should he? He had a girlfriend who was perfectly willing and ready on more than one occasion to make love to him, hell, even to just down-right, flat-out _fuck_ him in a few cases. It just didn't make sense until she saw that _other_ girl. And then, it made all too much sense. She had let the beast out of its cage. After years of being pent up and held back, Clark Kent got what he always wanted, and then wanted more, wanted different, wanted _better_. He couldn't control himself, she surmised, and so he let loose.

She ran straight into Lex's arms. In Lex, Lana could meet face-to-face with another _adult, _who knew the rules of the game and how best to play. He could be the teacher now, and her the student. She'd never have to feel like Lex was a burden to her, and she was sure she was a burden Lex was more than willing to take on. Even when she was with Clark, back in High School, she could see the way he looked at her. She could feel his eyes on her, even when he wasn't there. She would almost-hope, even then, that he watched her as she would bathe, or swim, or sleep wearing just the covers when the summer heat overcame the AC in her room. She would feel dirty and wrong and naughty when she did these things- these things that had been perfectly ok before. But, over time, she became more daring, more adventurous. She got a little thrill out of meeting here yes with his when she could tell he had certain parts of her on his mind. She was secretly daring herself to go that step further, but not too far. Clark was safe then. But Lex, he was dangerous. If Clark felt like home to Lana, Lex felt like a tropical vacation.

And every day by his side had been a vacation. In the privacy of his presence, Lana had gave the part of her that always had felt dirty and wrong and so very intrigued when she thought of things, or didn't wear others, have it's proper hearing ,it's proper exposure. She made habits of keeping little things with her, and not remembering to wear or bring others along. He had been supportive the entire time. And why not? Lana was sure she was putting on quite a show. She couldn't remember how many times after the break up with Clark Lex would hold her as she cried, or place his hand on her shoulder and squeeze it gently. When he didn't feel that familiar strap underneath her shirt, she'd reply, trying to be nonchalant, "I'm not wearing anything strapless." She could always count on his keen intellect to add two and two together. After a while that was shorter than she would have first thought, she let him make a habit out of seeing what else she wasn't wearing.

It was intoxicating, this new-found level of freedom and release. Free of Clark, she could finally let go of her own childish ways and begin to play catch-up on what she had been missing: for starters a man who knew what "foreplay" meant. After a few "accidents" on her part, Lex had begun to acclimate himself to seeing her wear next to nothing, or much _much_ closer to it, as she sat in his leather office chair. She would get a very real thrill out of seeing the video file she'd e-mailed him on his desktop, and on his iTunes Library. She wondered how many people had caught Lex watching he on his iPod. Though, she was sure, the number was very few if any. Still, the idea was so intoxicatingly erotic. That phrase seemed to describe everything that was Lex Luthor in her mind: _Intoxicatingly erotic_.

There was a safety and an exhilaration about keeping all of this from the outside world. To the outside world, she was still Lana Lang, still the little girl on the cover of all those magazines who cried over her parents at night and wore little fairy dresses and had tea parties. But when it was just Lex and Lana, or just Lana and the few lucky strangers to catch her between bathroom and dorm, or through her window, she was a much bigger girl now, with much bigger aims and wants and desires, and needs. The only costume she wore with was a French maid outfit once, and that didn't last long.

But then there were other times with Lex: times when he scared her with how adult he was. Times when she wondered if she was just like Clark, trying to put on a charade of adulthood, still hiding behind the walls of her naivety. She would overhear him talking with his researchers about the ship, or with his teams looking for Fine. Times when she would lie naked in his bed while he stayed up with his computer screen, researching continuously while talking to everyone: doing everything and anything but her. There would be moments when she feared that Lex would cheat on her, just like Clark did, but with Fine and the ship and the two women she knew she didn't stand a chance against: Mystery and Knowledge. She would see Lex so consumed by his work that even his love for her sizzled and burned on the back-burner.

But then he would come in, and would kiss her in that way that said everything: that the whole time he was thinking of her. That al of this was so that they, together, could discover the truth for themselves and themselves alone. He was doing it all for her, he would say without words. And, sometimes minutes and other times seconds later, when his eyes met hers and their lips crashed against each other and he into her, all of those fears and doubts and second-thoughts would be washed away by the way their hips moved in unison in undulating waves.

Yesterday, though, had been different. Somewhere in the chaos, Lana found clarity. She woke up to the end of the world as she very well knew it, and all she could think about was Lex? People were dying, suffering, hurt. And yet, here she was, with all the capabilities in the world at her disposal, and what was she using them for? A long, hot, hot, sweaty shower with Lex Luthor that left her feeling less clean than when she started. Somewhere inside of her, closer to her than where Lex had been so many times in the past few days, both in body and in soul, Lana couldn't help but feel guilty, and wrong, and horrible, not naughty or bad or dirty. This new Lex was so full of power and influence, and just so full of everything it had amazed her at first, but now it scared her. It scared her very much.

She thought of running into Clark's arms, of running home. The home she had razed to the ground in what seemed like a lifetime ago. He had tried to come back to her, to save her, but she didn't let him. She needed him now, more than ever. She knew he'd find a way to make the horrible nightmares of hungry little children dancing in menacing little circles around towering infernos that disappeared into the sky stop. She knew that he could find a way to wash away all her thoughts of old men in tattered clothes with missing teeth that followed her like the reek of death she was too afraid to smell outside of the apartment in LuthorCorp Tower. She needed to find him, to find her sanity. She needed to see the part of her that would never have done something like this. As she slipped quietly out of the bed, and the pair of muscular arms around her that she almost couldn't say no to, she tried not to wake them. She was too afraid of the noise to take another shower, or the intended consequences. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes were still a little glazed over from the previous night's activities. Her lipstick had been smeared across her cheek, and she was too tired last night and in too much of a rush this morning to wipe it away. Quickly, she grabbed what she could- her bra had been ripped off, quite literally, yesterday. No need for that. She shimmied her way quietly into the little pearl g-string Lex had bought her at Victoria's Secret recently. It had been the most annoyingly sensual thing she'd ever felt before. Now. She realized, it would just be a hassle. The few strings of pearls that comprised the majority of the undergarment had a habit of slipping themselves in the wrong -previously, the _exact_ right- place. Not to mention, they would become a bother to her own "pearl" as Lex had called it. Still, it was better than running around in a little jean skirt with absolutely nothing on underneath. The skirt in question was next, as Lana was glad she had decided on a pair of very low heels on her way over. Finally, after deciding that Lex's dress shirt was a better option than the shiny black strapless top he had ripped off her body along with strapless bra, she gathered her things, and, feeling almost remorseful, some of the money he had on hand in his wallet, and tiptoed quietly out the door.

She didn't catch his eyes following her on the way out, nor did she see the grin that always made her squirm.

Martha Kent woke with a start and a gasp. She was bitterly cold, surrounded by snow. There was a distinct smell of burning rubber and steel in the air as thick black smoke poured out over the white snow, melting it with sheer heat. She could hear the flames but not see them. Last she remembered, she was trying her hardest to breathe. Now, she could barely choke through the thick black clouds. As she moved onto her back, still gagging, she caught sight of a large black object to her right. She turned yet again, barely able to breathe, feeling a little light headed, and lost her breath for entirely different reasons. Before her was a large triangular shape. It looked like smooth polished stone. It was floating over the snow. Floating. She could barely believe her eyes.

"Hello, Senator." she didn't recognize the voice. It was refined, gentlemanly, even, but with so much malice behind it. It reminded her of Lex or Lionel Luthor, before he changed. "We've been waiting for you."

She was choking again, "We"

"Why yes, Martha Kent: your friend and I." With that, the familiar face of Lois Lane dropped down beside her, frozen solid with a look of sheer horror.

"Won't you please join us?" The last thing Martha saw were angled features, short cut brownish-blond hair, and menacingly blue eyes.

Somewhere, miles and miles and miles away, Clark Kent let out a silent, unseen scream as his planet, his family, his home vanished into the distance.


	5. She Hurt

_**WARNING:**_

**_This next Chapter is very mature. It involves the actions directly leading to a supposed rape of a young woman. By no means do I mean to condone the actions that take place in these words by writing and presenting them to you. I am only trying to present the events in as realistic a setting as possible, while neither exploiting nor downplaying them. _**

_**I do not, however, address any actual rape. I end before it begins. **_

**_However, if you are offended by this, I urge you not to read this next chapter. The events will be discussed again, but not in this fashion. I only present this to give context and understanding for the events to follow after this chapter, as well as those that proceeded it. _**

**_I apologize for any offenses committed or taken because of this piece and will remove it upon request. I only hope that, as this story progresses, this scene can add depth and emotion and a sense of how real tragedy can be for those who fall victim to some of humanity's worst evils. _**

**_This, ladies and gentlemen who have been gracious enough to read and review my story so far, is why I rated this story "M". You have been warned. _**

_Chapter 5: "She Hurt"_

_Chloe Sullivan was grasping desperately for something to hold on to. An arm, a light pole, the corner of a building: whatever she could get her hands on. Unseen hands were pulling her deeper and deeper into the crowd, the yelling screaming and kicking mass of a mob that had overtaken every square mile to be seen. Police helicopters hovered over head as vandals broke into every shop in sight. TV's spontaneously fell out of shattering windows as man turned against another. _

_The limousine that Lionel Luthor had so graciously offered her was fading into the distance. If he hadn't stopped, she would have already been taken. But, because he stopped, he was stuck in this now, too. Somehow, in all this chaos, Chloe's higher brain functions were still firing away. She began to kick, to scream, to try and free herself from the mass of broken glass and breaking bones, but to no avail. _

_She felt a stray punch hit her right thigh as she recoiled in pain. She didn't hear or feel a break, but she knew it would leave quite a bruise. Hand began to grope. She shut her eyes tightly shut and closed her thighs as best as she could. She felt a hand bunch together and pull the back of her shirt. As she was dragged further and further by unseen hands and arms into this mass of chaos, the hand held on, and her shirt tore at the shoulder, as some of the material went along with it. Her belt was ripped right off her, the buckle whipping against her arm as it flew. Someone grabbed her foot, and she kicked as hard as she could. She felt her heel land smack on his nose, felt it crack and shatter under her, if feeble, force. _

You have a chance,

Just keep fighting.

Don't Give Up.

Never Give In.

_Soon, she heard a yell and a scream as whichever unlucky man with a new broken nose came running through the crowd after her. She was nearing an alleyway now, as far as she could tell from peering ahead of her, the whole world looking as upside down as it really was. She felt another stray hit, this time to her lower back, and bit down on her lip hard, tasting a hint of blood as she tried to hold in her screams. _

Don't let them hear you scream.

Never let them hear you scream.

_The unseen hands threw her down onto the only exposed floor left in Metropolis, it seemed. She slid as she landed on hard concrete. She was right, she was in an alley way. A pile of trash and half of a stained, beat-up mattress cushioned her fall. For the first time, she looked her attackers in the eye. Three men towered over her. One had very short cut blonde hair and steely blue eyes. He and his companion were wearing matching orange jumpsuits with tag numbers on the left breast pocket. The other was taller, darker, with more short cut hair, black in color. He was wearing a pair of torn up jeans, and a blood-stained wife beater. As she gazed further and further up, she saw the large trail of blood streaming from his nose. _Of all the noses I could have broken. _She stood back up, faltering on her right thigh. _

Get past them.

Run your hardest.

Fight your hardest.

Don't Give Up.

Get back into the mob.

Get lost in the mob.

Never Give In.

_As the man with the bloodied nose approached her, she threw her best knuckle-punch at his blood-covered face. With a full-bellied laugh, his left arm clamped down hard on her wrist, pulling her down awkwardly. She felt her entire weight, with added momentum, thrown down on her aching, stinging, throbbing thigh. She faltered, about to fall. Just as she feel, she felt a large palm land far too- hard on her right cheek. Her left crashed into wrapper-covered pavement. "That" the man now towering above her said "was for the nose, you bitch." With both hands, he dragged her up against a wall by her right arm. He glanced back at the two men in jumpsuits, motioning to them. _

"_This" he continued "Is for all the other shit I'm sure you put them through." With that, he threw her to the floor again, her head crashing hard against a spot of uncovered pavement. She began to feel dizzy, as the whole world spun. She had tried her best to look strong, to not shed a tear, but now, her body was being overcome with hurt and sting and bruise. Her face scrunched up in deep wrinkles of agony and grief. As she dared to peer through tear-stained eyes in a dizzy haze, she could just barely make out the motions of belts being unbuckled as the sounds echoed in her ears. _

_A pair of hands gripped her hips forcefully. Another pair of hands was gripping the waist band of her pants tightly, bunching them up in its fists. A final hand reached down and grasped her jaw and cheeks, pressing the flesh against her cheeks, forcing her jaw to open, as the other hand, clenched in a tight fist, landed swiftly on her right eye. She shut them both even tighter, tears streaming down her face, mixing in with grime and sweat and dirt and, she had begun to suspect, blood. As the blackness became even darker, Chloe felt as if her whole person was moving into the top of her head. Even the darkness behind her pupils and inside her mind was becoming fuzzy. She was going numb from her extremities inward. _

_The last thing she felt was the pants she was now barely wearing being torn downward. As the thick, cold, heavy air rushed to goose-bump her now- exposed skin, Chloe's mind fluttered and flew and rose and crashed all at once into darkness, fighting it the entire way._

_Somewhere in a cloud of haze and darkness, Chloe felt a pair of hands slipping a pair of pants on her lower body. She didn't who or how or why. She was too dizzy, too lost in the blackness and haze to be able to open her eyes and see. She felt a pair of hands deftly lace one shoe around her foot, and then the other. She fell and fluttered back into darkness. Somewhere there, between the living and the dead, she remembered the way her father used to help her get dressed in the morning before school. She remembered the way he would lean down and tie her shoes for her. Her shoes… Chloe began to reenter reality, to become more aware of her surroundings. It was as if she was waking from a deep sleep. She felt before she before she heard, heard before she smelled, and smelled before she could taste her own dried blood and something else she didn't want to try to identify in her mouth. Then she saw the backs of her eyelids, felt the warmth of daylight pulsing against them. _

_Chloe Sullivan opened her eyes very slowly._ _She hurt._


	6. Stinging Hands

**Well, I'm back. It's been a while, but I'm back. Though Al and Miles have decided to go the safe route with good ole Jimmy, I'm sticking to my own interpretation. A smaller, (I think) more graphic snippet of Chloe's ordeal awaits you. The update is short this time, but only because I am short on sleep. I will update more regularly when I have more time (and sleep) on my hands. Until then, this is where we pick up. Don't worry, many unanswered questions concerning everyone else but Chloe will come in future updates, but, for the meantime, we're going to stay with her for a bit. I would tell you to "enjoy" but, that would e sick given the following circumstances. So, hopefully, you'll appreciate instead. It's always darkest before the dawn. **

Chloe's hand stung. A thousand little needles, or bee stings, or whatever. It stung. She could barely hear her screams echoing off the walls shadowed in the moonlight. As her vision had begun too come back to her, she cold just make out smeared make-up and disheveled hair. She was wearing a black teddy, a cheap silk rip-off she'd bought at a little "boutique" in Chinatown. Her mind was wandering again as she felt the last of the tear drops roll down her cheek. Why did her hand sting? She glanced at it, saw the crimson trail running down to her elbow. As her vision was fully restored, she saw the lines cut in her reflection, with the pieces of her shoulder, her hip, her neck and ear missing from it. "Oh." She looked down again, as a small pool of velvet-colored sticky was forming around her feet. So much for that cheap pedicure. And everything went black again.

_His hand came down on her again, harder this time. In a white hot flash, she yelped for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes, The air was full of blood, smog and cigarettes. Tears, sweat, and blood were caked in her hair, along with other things she'd have to wash out. Wash out? Was she even going to make it out? Barely able to think, much less breathe with the darker one's weight straddled over her shoulders, pressing all her weight down into the pavement, Chloe was taking as many precious breaths through her nose as possible. She had bit down hard on whatever parts of him came near her, and soon after, he was crushing her jaw closed, just as he was now. With each inhale, his sweat, and smell polluted her every thought with rank and disgust. She was almost glad he was blocking her view of what was happening from her neck down. Ravenous hands had been grabbing every square inch of her body. One of the orange-jackets was straddled over her waist, facing the same way as the darker-haired behemoth pressing into her collarbone. She knew what he was after, and was trying to find a way to ignore every nerve that was screaming at her between her midsection and shoulders. Soon, the screaming from below her midsection was too loud to ignore. With one piercing scream that felt like a stab wound, she knew it had begun. As every nerve ending out to her, she screamed through mangled jaw to anyone and everyone who would answer. Her voice was lost in the mob, lost in the chaos, lost in the pain._


	7. Rasberry Filled Raindrops

Chloe woke with a start and a yelp. The air was sterile, and the slow, monotonous drip-drop in the clear plastic bag next to her told her everything. The tiny little staccato droplets melded in a beautifully dull melody with the soft pitter-patter on the roof above. Tear drops were streaming slowly down the window next to her. The buildings outside were painted in hues of blue and gray that seemed to mourn its way through the window and onto the white and gray patterned linoleum floor. Here she was again, her usual room, the usual bed. Metropolis Med had become like a second, much more dreary home in the past few months. As she glanced at her right hand, she began to know what she had only guessed. She'd had another nightmare, another "incident." Her nightgown was folded neatly on the gray chair next to her, and a familiar draft was dancing in her sheets, and over the paper gown that barely allowed her a shred of decency.

"I brought you a pair of jeans, and a hoodie. Dr. Isley said you should be out in no time."

The ring on his lip seemed to dance when he talked. At first, Chloe had found it odd, and amusing. Now, in a strange way, after watching it waltz for the past three months, it was almost charming. The way his eyebrows twitched just a bit when he was deep in thought. She'd always laugh at him, which made them jump a bit, and he'd give her a look, then it's hit him, and the eyebrows simultaneously. "Damned eyebrows…" he'd mutter before they both fell into fits of laughter that soon lead to other things.

Now, though, no one was laughing quite yet. "I'll leave… if you, you know, want to change?" "Please. Like there's anything you haven't already seen? She said with her familiar, knowing smirk. He was always so courteous and kind around her, like he was handling a bluebird with a broken wing or something. It was both charming, like his lip ring, and irritating. She loved it. For a punk, he was awfully sweet. For some reason, he still turned his back to her while she slipped off the paperthin sheet and gown.

"There. All done. No virtuosity will be further defiled." She said, trying to sound a horribly upper-class as possible. "Happy?"

"Always." He slid into the chair, clasping her good hand, leaning a little awkwardly into her shoulder. He knew just where it tickled her, and soon she was in fits of laughter, something she rarely enjoyed anymore.

"I have something for you."

"Really? What." Chloe allowed herself to be taken in by the mystery, however contrived.

"This!" and soon, he was up, bounding over to his messenger bag, where a small white box lay nearby. "You see, today is a momentous occasion, Chlo-" "Oh really?" The investigative reporter in her was stirring slowly. "Yup." He gingerly picked up the small box, as if it held some sort of treasure, or a hundred little glass figurines or something really fragile. Slowly, carefully, he came back to her bedside, and placed the box on her table. Gingerly, he opened it. Inside was a small dark brown cake, lopsided and uneven in form and impression. He opened the box fully, as a big smile, another luxury of hers, painted itself across her face, dimples and all. In messy, chicken-scratched cursive, It read..

"Happy One-Hundred, Chloe." He said, lip ring dancing more exaggeratedly than usual.

"One-Hundred what?" she asked, simple, matter-of factly.

"Of these…" and with that, he gingerly held her stitched hand, kissing each one of the thirteen she'd received. _Had it really been that many? _

He pulled a sparkler that was far too large for such a small, dilapidated cake, and, with a small match struck on the edge of the table, watched as the sparks reflected in her wide-eyed pupils.

"You made this, just because I've had one-hundred stitches…?"

"Well, yes…" he said, with an awkward pause, "and, no. Sorta." She laughed. "You know that really old lady down the hall?" "The nudist?" "No, the other one." "Oh, yeah. Her." "Well, it turns out she cooks a mean dark chocolate cake with raspberry filling." "There's raspberry filling in this? Here. Take this." she handed him the still-sparking sparkler, as he gingerly tried not burn the hospital down while still blowing it out.

"So, anyway, while you were in surgery. "Surgery?" she half-said, her mouth already stuffed with cake, raspberry filling ripping down her chin "Yeah, "officially speaking" don't worry, it's just the usual stitches." _The free stitches_ "Ok." A chunk almost fell out.

"Anyways, they said that you'd be getting thirteen. And it hit me. That would have you at 107 stitches in three months. So, I would have brought it to you at stitch six, but they were kind of busy." She smirked at his attempt at humor. She would have given him a laugh, but precious raspberry and dark chocolate might have been lost.

Something didn't feel quite right, though. A few moments later, she was staring at the coarse, wiry grey hair she'd pulled out from between her teeth. "You're sure it wasn't the nudist?" "She did have clothes on Chloe…I'm pretty sure." "If you say so…" Another fork-full soon found itself victim to her open mouth.

A few hours later, as they exited the building arm-in arm to the streets below, with post-storm dew fresh on the median's grass, richer after the downpour, Jimmy began to wonder why he'd never seen a washer or dryer in that nice old lady's apartment.


	8. Livingston Park

The leaves outside Chloe's apartment had begun to turn. There was a noticeable draft drifting through the worn old wood window frames. A slight fog was forming around the edges of each, blending perfectly with the small curls of fog streaming silently out of her lips. The heat had gone out again, and she could see a few trashcan fires forming in the early morning in the building across from her. Her newly-installed little stud seemed frozen straight to her still-tender, recently-pierced nostril. In a moment of candidacy, Chloe was tempted to try and lick it or something, but memories of _A Christmas Story_ soon had her thinking twice.

At times like these, Chloe wasn't sure whether or not she missed her old dorm room, with her old laptop and bed and desk. The laptop, rather miraculously, had been saved-or, at least, it's hard drive, though the rest was lost in the inferno at Met U that followed the blackout. Some blamed it on the students, others a few disgruntled professors. Chloe didn't believe either story. She'd moved in with Jimmy after her first hospital visit. At first, it was only supposed to be temporary: she could barely protest through her sobs. He slept on his old, beat-up couch and let her take the slightly-less-worn bed. It was the "appropriate thing to do" he said. She thanked him repeatedly, and tried to get some sleep. She only had nightmares the first night. Parts of her previous few days that were fighting to resurface from the blackened haze she'd shrouded them with. It was a week before the "incidents" began. She'd woken up in his small kitchen, unable to explain how she got there, or why the palms of her hands were bleeding. He told the doctors later that her screams had woken him from his couch. She never remembered screaming. The traces of blood underneath her nails would later explain how the bleeding started. She'd, in a fit of something between rage and grief, griped her hands while sleep-walking so tightly that her nails pierced the skin. It would happen six more times, each being progressively worst, before she broke his old mirror. She'd loved that mirror. It spoke of a bygone era of opulence and grandeur. "I never liked it that much anyways," he'd told her on the walk home from the hospital. She knew he was lying.

That was almost a month ago, and the old scars were still on her hands, her arms, even a matching pair just above her knees. She'd had two more "incidents" since the one with the mirror.

Something about the clear, cold air drifting in from her-his-their window almost helped her forget all that, as her fingertips unconsciously traced all the tiny scars left behind by the stitches. She was dressed simply in her favorite gray hoodie, it was originally his, and a plain pair of boy-short cut panties. She'd roused to the early sunlight first, as he still dozed in the bedroom. It had only taken a few weeks for certain aspects of his more chivalrous persona to rid themselves. He made her feel strangely safe in this citywide slum that had resulted from last spring's blackout. She knew that was something unique, and held onto it-and him-as voraciously as she could. Chloe suspected he felt the same way.

Shivering legs woke her from her daydreaming, and soon, crystal-clear hot water was pouring out of her cheap, battery-powered electric kettle. In times like these, the one thing one couldn't run out of was tea. And, with a bountiful supply of all of Tazo's different varieties stashed from a looting trip to Starbuck's, her shivers soon slowed, and eventually, under several layers, stopped.

After she slipped on a pair of jeans that were a little too tight and Chucks that were a little too big, and was brave enough to venture to the fogged windows that lined the south wall of his-her-their apartment, it seemed like it might be a good day to go down to the park. The people there would need them, on a clear cold day like this. And besides, there was plenty of tea to go around.

A whole mob had gathered around the two of them, amazed by their sheer presence. A thick, staccato beat filled the air as Chloe and Jimmy tried to squeeze through the shivering, huddled mass. She barely caught sight of one of them, a tall stocky man with wide features and dreadlocks hanging down to his waist. Small bits of ice were lodged into his braided, barely-graying locks, mixing in with beads and various other items. She'd seen him several times on the streets. He was lucky to have a real instrument with him-a home-made djembe. Most of Livingston Square's artists beat on plastic buckets, or trashcans, or anything else they could find. Occasionally, someone would have a guitar, and would soon find themselves in better conditions. After 10 minutes of non-stop rhythm, a small mob had formed around the group, now a dozen drummers strong, each with a slightly different instrument, different style, and different sound. Dreadlocks was obviously the leader of the pack, but several others followed. In another moment of spontaneity, Chloe began to dance in the middle of the circle, carrying a large jug of tea in each hand. Jimmy whipped out his camera, as usual, framing the circle around her, with leaves falling behind. Just as his shutter clicked, a few drops spilled out of the top. Dreadlocks paused for a moment, only a moment, and the rest of the beat faltered and stopped behind him. In the corner, one artist kept the beat going a little longer than the others, but the glares soon killed the music.

Dreadlocks spoke. "Hay, Mon. Tell yhur ghurl nat ta speel da ghuds, nah." And, just as soon as his thick, grating voice, full of gravitas, had begun, it was replaced with the beat, once again. The Tazo was served piping hot, the flavor of the day African Red Bush. "Something to wake us up." Jimmy had said. He began taking photos from there.

His old 35mm had been smashed in the riots, and he relinquished himself to a _Planet_-supplied Rebel. As the building was being remodeled post-blackout, he and Chloe had a few days off before they had to get back to work. The background on his old MacBook would remain the dilapidated globe on top of the Planet's building. Much of their work, now, concerned covering the recovery and homeless of Metropolis. Many refugees read of their hometown from their computer screens in Gotham and several other cities in the region. The age of the newspaper, even after so immense a "Digital Disaster" (as the 48 point font on the front page had declared it) it seemed, was waning.

Chloe and Jimmy made their Saturday-morning rounds through out the square and adjacent park every week. The two had quickly dedicated themselves to helping as much as they could, wherever they could. Livingston, though, had especially touched them. It was a community of artists, right to the bone. Chloe couldn't count how many portraits of her had been paid for, then immediately thrown away. They simply didn't have enough room. Their walls were covered in Livingston art and photography. It was beautiful, but costly. Now-a-days, they simply had to, however regrettably, say no. Instead, they brought the artists tea, soup, or sub sandwiches, even, if one of Jimmy's photos had done particularly well. One of them, the shot of the Planet, made it to the cover of Time, and the whole square had a party.

For Jimmy, Livingston Square and Park was purely humanitarian. For Chloe, there were also, much more hidden, motives. Every face could be Lana, or Lois, or Clark, even. She feared the worst for Clark. It was hard to ignore the huge "In times like these" posters baring "Lex Luthor's" seemingly-sincere mug. Chloe, with no sign of Clark to be seen, was quietly morning what she believed more and more with each passing day: Zod was here, and he had made sure that Clark was not. She hoped and, maybe even verged on praying that no one else had met the same fate at the hand of Zod.

The noise, or rather, momentary lack there-of, startled Chloe from her thoughts. The beat was done, and the spectators all gave rounding applause. A bucket had replaced where Chloe once danced, and a few suits dropped pocket-change en-route to station, headed for the quickly-recovering business district. After the crowd dispersed, Chloe crouched down to give each of the artists and extra-strong cup, careful not slip in the two tea-puddles she had left. One of the artists' dogs followed after her, licking the puddles up while the steam still rose. When she got to Dreadlocks, she felt she needed to apologize.

"Ah nuh, no whurries, ghurl." He said, baritone as always. "Suh longhas evurywhun gids der fill." With a full-bellied laugh, he motioned to the dog. She always liked him best of the Livingston artists. He was an easy soul, and an old soul. When she brought him a cup of soup, or tea, or a small sandwich from the Starbucks she'd looted just months prior, he'd give her looks that reminded her of her grandfather, before he passed, or of Mr. Kent, before he did. Just, you know, with a little more soul in him, she thought to herself.

He finished the tea slowly, letting himself enjoy the warmth as long as possible. After she saw that he had finished, she almost moved on to the young girl next to him, had she not noticed a small, faint glint out of the corner of her eye. As she turned, he stretched out, allowing the usually-closed, very worn, leather vest that clung to his broad chest to fall open. Something in the inside pocket caught the light in the faintest way. As Chloe turned, she saw it was a small, laminated card, white in color. She barely saw the red "K" and "a" sticking out of the leather. He noticed her looking, and immediately closed his arms around him, faking a chill.

" I never knew you had a driver's license!" She said, genuinely and pleasantly surprised.

"Whut?" the musician said, trying to feign off her advancing questions. But the reporter in Chloe was kicking in, and curiosity was quickly going in for the kill.

"Oh, C'mon, let me see it! I'll let you see mine? I bet your picture isn't nearly as bad as mine," she said with a small chuckle, already half-way through fishing it out of the cute little wallet she'd purchased from a vendor just down the block.

He paused for a minute, closing his eyes, biting his lip just the slightest, looking both reticent an defeated, as he slipped the I.D. card out of his wallet.

"Prhamus naht ta tewl eniewhun?" he said, just before handing it over to her, equal parts guilty child and big, almost-threatening bear-of-a-man.

"Oh, it can't be THAT bad." She said, trying to catch his eyes to give him hers, but they glued themselves to the cold pavement in front of him.

It was a driver's license alright, she knew that immediately. But the picture was certainly not of the reggae drummer she'd known over the past few months. The hair was of similar length, but a different color-brown, and much better kept. A short-cut beard graced a much paler face resting atop a throne of Italian-cut wool the color of night, a finely-pressed crisp white-collared shirt, and a bright, deep, bold tie of silk. Chloe gasped, as the name confirmed it: _"Lionel Luthor!"_

_An Author's Note(s): I hope you like this conglomerate of different (if ravaged) cities I've turned into post-blackout Metropolis. If anyone's gotten a whiff of (very tragically and regrettably) today's New Orleans, or the more artistic, less affluent parts of Manhattan, then well done. I've been lucky enough to visit both very recently, and have found great(if regrettably-found) inspiration in the stories and people I met and heard there. Expect more characters like Jimmy, Our newly-pierced Chlo, and especially Dreadlocks in future…speaking of in future…_

_For those who don't know, I'm moving off to college within hours. So, updating will be rather belated. I both love and hate to leave you guys hanging. (As I'm sure, from this last chapter, many of you can tell.) But, as my French roommate would say in an accent much better than my own: "C'est La Vie" At any rate, a little teaser to hold you over. This revelation is the introduction to events that will begin to really set things in motion. There's a theory out there about how Lion-El, as many have called him, fits into the Supes mythology. I've read it, and it makes perfect sense to this Kowatche(e?)Wannabe(e?), so, with all due respect to those who made the discoveries leading to it; I'm going to steal it. Oh, and for all those of you who have been asking where Clark is (what, no one wants to know where Lana ran off to? What about Martha and Lois chilling, quite literally, out with a certain evil Angel we all know and love to hate? Ah well…) Well, to make a long story short: he's on his way. I've said too much. Look for the clues, and you'll know where this is going before I do. I hope they haven't been too obviousKryptonsite…_


	9. Discovery

Chloe was frozen with sheer, unrelenting shock. What in Gods name was Lionel Luthor's license doing in this Livingstonite's hands? How. When. Why?

"Wh-where did you get this" she managed to stammer out from behind her wide-eyed gaze. "Who gave this to you?"

"Eyeh fund et un mai o'n" the artist said, eyes still glued to the pavement in front of him.

"Where's you find it" Chloe asked, trying to get whatever clues she could out from behind his dreadlocks.

"Eyuh kin shaw ewe, but yew mussnt teil nuhwhun." He said, gaze finally lifting from the concrete between his feet.

"Alright, that's fine, just please, take me there." Her mind was still racing. She had yet to hear of Lionel since their, if very brief, encounter in his limousine. Was he still alive? If so, then why stay in hiding all this time. Surely, though, he had not given away his identification so readily. Perhaps he was leaving clues, so that those who needed to now could find him. A million different possibilities swarmed through Chloe's head.

"Prahmus naht ta teil eniwhun?"

"yeah, sure. I promise. Just, just wait here. I'll be right back." And, just like that, Chloe was lost in the crowd again, her cries of "Jimmy" mixing in with drumbeats and footfall.

Jimmy Olsen had nearly filled his video card to the brim. Dozens of photos of Livingstonites, as Metropolitans called then, playing, laughing and begging would soon join thousands other images already hogging the majority of his hard drive. Just as he was about to get a perfect shot of two children playing in an old, moldy-looking fountain, a slight, but entirely recognizable voice barely grazed his hearing: "Jimmy."

He turned about face, straining to hear the voice again. "Chlo!" he called back into the mixed crowd of yuppies and so-called hippies. After several minutes of calling, the two were within sight of one another. "COME QUICK" the voice called to him. And, at the drop of a hat, he was rushing his way through the crowds. Someone could be hurt, or, worst, dying. Too many times had Chloe called out to him in Livingston Square for such an occasion. By now, he could almost say that he "knew the drill", however disturbing a term that was for such an instance.

Within minutes, he could see that Chloe had stopped running, a sign that was either entirely good, or entirely bad. When he arrived, he saw her resting her hands on her knees, standing near the lead drummer from earlier that morning. Her expression was hard to understand, a mix of hope, fear, and shock he assumed. His face soon mirrored hers.

"I think he found Lionel." It took all the resolve Jimmy had not to fall flat on his ass.

"Eit's jest ower dis hiul." The drummer declared, trying to lead his two followers on, noticing their slower pacean labored breathing. The two had been walking for quite a while, as he had lost his trail several times in the less cultivated parts of the forest. Oddly, a light snowfall had begun, even this early in fall. An extreme cold front had swept much of Kansas, Metropolis included. Their breath could be seen before them, and an odd mix of crunching snow and ruffling leaves responded to their footsteps. As the trio reached the top of the hill, Chloe could peer out and see the well-manicured lawns below them, littered with fountains and statues, many of which where covered with graffiti and the newly-fallen snow. Above them, the high-rise buildings of downtown Metropolis rose. Workers could be barely seen repairing the Daily Planets globe.

"Say, eet's jes dahn der." The drummer declared, feeling a little tired and sort of breath in the weather himself. Below them lay a thick patch of brush and foliage, with a few trees fallen intermittently. Slowly, carefully, the three of them ventured down. Bits of broken glass still lay gleaming among shredded papers and assorted other trash. It seemed as if this ground had yet to be recovered from the blackout. Thoughts of that fateful night began to flood Chloe's mind yet again. Just as she was about to succumb to them, the drummer's voice called her to attention. "Rait der, missus. Eyuh dun fownd dat liesinz rite der." Chloe followed his voice and accompanying gesture to a patch of thick brush, covered with snow and amber-colored leaves. She ventured forward carefully, nervously.

Peering down in through the brush, trying to separate some of it. Chloe let out a gasp and then a shrill scream. Her eyes had stared right into his.

"Jimmy, call nine-one-one." She said quickly, abruptly. It only took a moment or too for Jimmy to have an operator on the line.

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?' a crisp female voice asked. Jimmy ventured further peering over Chloe's shoulder, frozen stiff. Framed by her shoulder and short blonde hair, and covered in a few leaves and light snow was the face of Lionel Luthor.

"Just, come quickly."

Black leather soles rapped lightly and quickly on what was either really good linoleum or really cheap tile. A hand, gloved in fine leather the color of oil tugged lightly at the cuff of the other. Fine imported cashmere flowed behind woolen trousers swaying with the movement. A crisp white collar framed a deep red tie, made of the finest silk. The gloves straightened the knee-length jacket around the suit coat. A red scarf was removed and pocketed. The receptionist at the front desk could somehow tell, even before she saw him that the guest of honor had arrived. As the man's bald crown slowly came into view from behind her thick glass window, she listened intently for the words she'd been waiting to hear all day:

"I'm here to see Lionel Luthor."

"Just down this hall sir. A man dressed in a cheaply-made suit motioned for Mr. Luthor, his voice betraying him on several occasions. "So.so sorry to hear of your loss. Your fa-father was a wo-wonderful man. A-a wonderful man indeed."

"Why thank you, Mr…Riley. That's very nice of you to say. Though, I'm sure you never had to live with him." The voice was crisp, smooth, and inviting, showing no signs of remorse or pity. The man in the cheap suit laughed nervously, not sure what else to do.

"I-I also just wanted to-to thank you personally, Mr. Luthor, fo-for al-all the work you've do-done for the city, s-sir. W-we r-really wouldn't be where we a-are t-today w-ihout your g-generous a-assistance."

"Well, in times like these, we are all called to help revitalize this city, our home, to whatever extend we can. Just because my extent is greater than some, that doesn't mean I'm worthy of more praise. Metropolitans everywhere having been doing what they can to make our home ours again. They are the ones who deserve this much praise, not me."

He was as polished as the fine Italian leather gracing his feet and as refined as all his other tastes. Lex Luthor had been the "benevolent billionaire" (as many in the media had named him) behind much of the reconstruction efforts post-blackout. Many suspected, accompanied by muted whispers, that a Peace Prize already had his name on it. In Senator Kent's absence, Luthor had assumed, after much objection, many of her responsibilities. Through passionate speeches, and, some suspected, much arm-twisting, he had contracted-out the redevelopment of Metropolis to several big name companies, most especially LuthorCorp. When some protested such a move, Luthor had simply replied: "In order to ensure the recovery of this, my home, and of these, my friends and neighbors, I have taken it upon myself to allow my company, LuthorCorp, to assume most of the responsibilities associated with the reconstruction effort. However, in an attempt to help Metropolis back on its feet, LuthorCorp will perform all services free of charge." As soon as the words were spoken, all of Luthor's protestors suddenly became his best friends. Luthor would pay all of the workers straight out of his own pocket, it seemed. And suddenly, everyone wanted to be on the LuthorCorp payroll.

"Whu-well, um.. he-ere we are, Mr. Luthor." The man opened the door to a small, well-furnished room. Luthor took a seat in a well-plushed leather chair the color of brandy while the attendant disappeared through another door, and into the morgue's "storage" area. A few minutes later, he emerged wheeling a metal table into the middle of the room. On it rested a black bag roughly the size of a human being. As he began to unzip it, it became more clear as to why it was of that specific size.

"That's him." The voice was undaunted, unchanged. No hint of emotion, neither hate nor love, rejoicing or remorse was heard in Mr. Luthor's voice. Just a simple, matter-of-fact "That's him."

"Well, then, sir, if you would just follow me into my office, we can sign these papers and have you both on your way. So sorry for your loss, Mr. Luthor." The latter statement was almost a footnote, a second-thought. Joshua Riley had to be at his best around so noteworthy a client.

As the door shut slowly behind them, neither of the two men noticed the slight movement beneath the black bag. Neither man was around the two seconds more it would have taken to see the corpse's eyes begin to open, aglow. Neither man would make it to the mortician's office before the explosion


	10. Genesis

(excerpted from "Explosion Seen, Not Explained" by Chloe Sullivan in the Sunday, October 13th edition of Metropolis' "The Daily Planet")

"… the explosion, occurring at around 3:00 PM Friday, could be seen for several miles in every direction. While no evidence of arson could be found, several sources say that "Benevolent Billionaire" Lex Luthor was within the building shortly before the infoerno ensued. Luthor's publicist, at time of press, was unavailable for comment. Some sources suspect that Luthor's father, former CEO of LuthorCorp, Lionel Luthor, may have finally been found, leading to his son's presence at the Metropolis Morgue. Details, however, are unclear at this time, and such claims remain conjecture.

Of more interest, perhaps, is the large beam of white light seen by several eye-witnesses Friday.

"I was on my way back form my last class", Diana (who did not want to give her last name for personal reasons), a senior at Kansas A&M said "When I heard this really loud thud, like an explosion, or something. All the cars all across campus started going off. Then, like, a moment later, this really huge wave of white light just encompassed everything around me. When that left, I saw this great big beam of it off sort of near where I heard the explosion coming from. It just seemed to reach all the way up into the sky, without any end to it. I thought maybe it was, like, terrorists or something."

NASA confirms the presence of this beam, as seen below (image removed) though it has yet to offer any explanation for this strange occurrence. The beam, according to a public statement given by the Metropolis Branch of the Department of Homeland Security soon after the blast, lasted only 3 or less seconds. It was not, contrary to some reports, related to a nuclear explosion. At time of press, no explanation can be found for this strange occurance…"

He opened his eyes very slowly. It seemed as if he had been sleeping for a very long time, in some deep hibernation. The last time he felt like this was after his ordeal in the cave that summer, when he had traded his life for his fathers. Now, though, all this was magnified. He felt weightless, almost, like he was flying again. Then, to his slow realization, he was weightless. Immediately, panic set in. He could barely breathe. Not even he, he guessed, could breathe out here. And yet, he was. The stars surrounded him in a brilliant display of twinkling lights. Last he remembered, he was in the barn, trying to stop the veritable end of he world. Now, though, in this endless expanse, he worried if he had indeed, failed.

"Awaken, Kal-El." The voice was all-too familiar. But what was Lionel Luthor doing out here? A pair of glowing white eyes soon answered his questions. A voice filled his ears much like Lionel's, but with a much different tone. It was as if he was an entirely different person

"I have been sent by your father to free you of this void. The people of Earth need you, our Last Son of Krypton, now, more than ever. This is your purpose: to serve them and guide them to the good within themselves. You will face many obstacles in your path. Much as you already have. You will rule over them with an iron fist gloved in the benevolence of our great and mighty civilization. It is your duty to eradicate their world of all evils, much as I now eradicate you of the binds of this Phantom Zone. Go forth, last son of our people, and ensure that this planet may have many more."

Lionel's hand slowly extended towards him, palm outstretched towards his sternum. As they met, a violent storm of light and other things he couldn't quite define surrounded them. He could see through the haze that the light was leaving Lionel's eyes, and entering his. A glow surrounded him, pulsating in the deep dark. As the last of the light left him, Lionel's voice could barely be heard saying "Do not be concerned with this man. He has served his purpose, and his time has come to depart from his planet. He will be heralded forever more as the bringer of light to the nations, and the Eradicator of darkness."

As soon as the voice was finished, the light left Lionel's eyes and face seemed to explode in a mix of shock and assuredness. "I knew." were the last words heard from his lips as the oxygen left his body, and his whole person shrunk upon itself. Clark would later mark himself as the only witness to the death of Lionel Luthor, amidst glory of the stars and heavens he'd strived for his entire life.

Memories he did not know he had began to flood Clark's mind. A veritable history of his people and their culture was suddenly and instantly accessible. In this internal timeline, Clark honed in on one specific detail. And, as soon as he did, he disappeared in a movement so fast, that he dragged the matter around him, even including Lionel's shriveled and shrunken corpse, right with him.

Minh-Duc Huyn was stationed for the 11:00AM shift at the Chinese's satellite headquarters station. His hot cup of tea from the lobby downstairs was the only thing keeping him awake at the moment. It had been, suffice to say, a long night. Suddenly, a few sensors at his computer screen had gone off, and Trey almost spilled the over-priced beverage all over himself in surprise. Things like this never happened. He cued up the alert, and found himself staring at a radar screen meant to monitor for thousands of light-years, looking for asteroids that were earth-bound. Whatever this was, it was moving much faster than your average asteroid. Within three seconds, it has crossed the screen form one end to the other, putting it within miles of the earth. Minh-Duc sounded a code black, not sure what exactly could be done at this point, shortly before cowering under his desk. Across the globe, members of such government agencies reacted in a way very similar. In New York, businessmen and women pressed their faces to glass walls on every level, watching the ball of fire light up the night sky, as CEOs ran for their lives and cowered underneath desks. Actors on location for the Christian-themed thriller "Judgment Day" quit suddenly, after witnessing what they believed to be the harbinger of the true judgment day in the sky above them.

Somewhere near the artic circle, a polar bear gnawed on the last bone of the seal it had just caught. Her cubs, stationed nearby, cowered as a great and bright light filled the sky. All three ran off, completely bewildered and utterly frightened by the great noise and sudden wave of pressure that followed moments later.

Shards of crystal showered down on the snow-covered ice, each reflecting the morning sun as it struck itself in place. A great hole had been driven into the ice bank, and around it lay the remains of what was once a great crystallized structure, intermittent with great boulders of newly-placed black rock. Steam and smoke poured out of it as the sheer heat melted the snow and ice further and further. As the sun rose on the horizon, a figure seemed to levitate out of the chasm below, it's silhouette striking against the orange glow. It was a human form, with one arm held akimbo, and the other raised in a fist towards he sky. The form, as it moved itself, on nothing more than air, onto soft snow below it, could have been seen wearing very little. What it did have on was singed and torn at every point and every angle. Steam and smoke rose from he mysterious silhouette, creating a haze through which the amber rays glowed. Two red ovals opened near the top of the silhouette's form, glowing in a pulsating rhythm. After a few moments, the pulsating stopped, along with the steam and smoke (for the most part)

All of this might have seemed a frightening image, but it's witness remained unmoved.

A soft, but resolute voice, very male, sounded through the frozen desert: "_Fine_."

After a moment, the witness responded, in a voice just a soft, but much more menacing

"_Yes?"_


End file.
